


Fort Law

by MsBluebell



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dysphoria, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, Keith (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Keith (Voltron) Has Panic Attacks, Keith deserves a hug, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Shiro (Voltron) is a Good Sibling, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Team Fluff, Team as Family, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Keith (Voltron), broganes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 22:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluebell/pseuds/MsBluebell
Summary: Sometimes Keith likes to curl inside a pillow fort when he goes through dysphoria.Apparently, the other paladins like to curl up with him.





	Fort Law

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the vld "Heart & Home" family zine. I figure it's finally safe to share it.

It starts when Keith ends up building a lone pillow fort in the middle of one of the castle’s many lounge areas.

He didn’t mean to build a pillow fort in the middle of the lounge, it’s more of an accident than something he did consciously. It starts in the midst of a panic episode, with extra pillows and blankets spilling from a closet in the hallway that Keith happened to stumble inside of no less than ten minutes ago.

There’s a dozen lounge areas in the castle, so he doesn’t think it’s a big deal that he takes this one for himself right now. The others don’t see him out often, always assuming he’s on the training deck, and they usually stick to their own areas, so there’s little risk of them finding him.

It’s the only way that he knows to fight the sudden swell of overstimulation and anxiety that have been a regularity throughout his life, a ritual started in his early days with his father. Days when calloused hands expertly knotted soft fabrics together, pillows layered beneath him like the softest safety net in the world. He vaguely remembers strong arms around him, short hairs from the man’s five o’clock shadow brushing against skin, the smell of sawdust and cologne still fresh in his mind even now, the smell of home.

Keith’s own hands twist those same knots in the fabrics now, the blankets in his hand softer than the ones from the broken memories of his dad. It’s good, it’s fine, he’s fine. He just needs a dark, soft, quiet place to crawl inside of _now_ until his skin stops tingling and his ears stop ringing. He just wishes he’d made it to his room before this happened, where it was more closed in and he could dim the lights, but this would have to do. No one would find him, and he could rest here until his skin stopped itching and his dysphoria melted away and he didn’t feel overwhelmed by complete _silence_.

He makes it a little too big, the rounded couch too spacious for anything smaller. He doesn’t have time to care, crawling inside and curling up in the comfortable semi-darkness, letting himself fall into that familiar protection. It’s something he hasn’t done since he was a child, too small, able to fit between his dad’s hands so easily. He lost this somewhere between too many foster homes and too little space. Other orphans weren’t kind, and the children of foster parents were worse, and somewhere along the way he learned to sleep with his shoes on and hide underneath a solitary blanket instead of beneath the comfort of a fort. It’s a habit he’s never been able to kick, even after Shiro’s adoption went through and he went from a ward of the state to living beneath the man’s roof.

So he curls up in the center of his too large shelter, shoes still on and jacket wrapped around his shoulders, muscles wound tight and ready to sprung from the safety of the fort if he needs to. It’s just dim enough to be comfortable, and he feels better just by being inside. It’s like this that his eyes slip closed and he hums himself into a dazed almost sleep, his father’s half forgotten voice ringing in his ear.

Shiro is the first to find him. It could have been hours later, or it could have been mere minutes, he could never tell when he zoned out inside his little nests. He doesn’t even realize he’s been found, not until he hears Shiro’s soft voice call out his name, “Keith? Are you okay?”

The raven haired boy cracks an eye open to see Shiro’s pale face peeking through the open flap of the door, holding it up as grey eyes peer inside, concern lacing every part of his features. 

“I’m fine,” he rasps, and he must have been here a long time, because his throat is dry and itches horrifically. He doesn’t unwind, staying curled into that tight ball, waiting for his whole body to breathe again and stop feeling so dysphoric. He wants to sleep, that’s all he wants to do. It’s strange, he doesn’t usually like laying around when he could do something productive, but sometimes he just _needs_ this. 

Shiro hums, frowning lightly. The older man crawls into the nest, dropping the door-flap behind him, entering the private sanctuary without another word. If it had been anyone else, Keith’s skin would have crawled, but it wasn’t just anyone, it was Shiro. His brother, the man that took him in and didn’t give up on him when everyone else had, the only one still alive that never walked out on him or sent him off with the social worker to the next family. So he’s comfortable letting the man crawl up over and place a hand on his shoulder, turning him until he’s on his back. There’s still more than enough room in the fort, enough to fit five more of Shiro if he wanted. 

“Do you need water?” Shiro asks, brushing back locks of inky black hair from Keith’s forehead, “You don’t feel sick.”

The older man is somewhat familiar with this. Even when Keith doesn’t let himself do this often, it happened from time to time when he was living under the man’s roof. Shiro is well aware of what it means when Keith does this, even if the boy in question doesn’t always get it himself. 

“No.” Keith shakes his head. It’s a bit of a lie, because his throat is dry, but he doesn’t want to ask for anything, or move, or even leave this spot. He just wants to say here until he stops feeling so wrong. So he swallows down spit to soothe the ache and lets his face half bury itself in the pillows carefully laid out beneath him.

Shrio frowns, his hand still brushing back long locks. The younger boy knows he should move, that Shiro is worried, but he also knows that nothing really helps but staying in his fort. He feels safer here than anywhere else, and that’s the important thing when his skin itches like this. Shiro gets that, at least, but he still frowns because he can never quite work out what’s wrong. His brother doesn’t fight it, though, and merely slumps down on his side, laying next to the smaller boy.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” Shiro asks. His voice isn’t reprimanding, nor is it judging, it’s just an easy concern. 

“No,” he answers honestly, his throat a bit more soothed now, voice still a little raspy. 

“We’ve been looking for you for over an hour.” Shiro doesn’t scold him, though Keith thinks he would be disapproving any other time, “You missed dinner.”

Keith hums. It’s still odd to him that some people actually want him around sometimes. Years with Shiro still hasn’t kicked the easy surprise out of him, though it’s reasonable to forget, he was only with Shiro during the summer, the rest of the year was in Garrison custody. Before, care felt brief and fleeting. Nowadays he has a whole team of people who want him to show up for dinner. 

It’s odd. He can never get a real read of these people. They push him away and yet pull him in at the same time. It’s confusing, because he can never tell if Lance, for example, wants him gone or wants him to stay. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Shiro that he didn’t think he’d be missed.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I’ll be sure to grab some food later. I’ll be good for the team and everything. 

Shiro frowns, and Keith knows he’s said something wrong. He can’t be sure what, though. Shiro is emotionally picky sometimes. He hoped promising to take better care of himself would be enough, but it’s not. His brother reaches out with his left arm, the one that’s still flesh, and places a calloused hand on his shoulder, “You can’t just keep missing dinner, Keith, we miss you.”

It’s weird to hear that. Again, he’s so used to being just another number in the system, any system. Garrison, foster system, it didn’t matter. He was a cog in a machine, going along and playing his part. In the foster system he was the worst they had, in the Garrison he was the best. In the end they both discarded him because he was just too much trouble. Shiro had been an outlier, the exception that proves the rule.

Shiro was probably exaggerating. He never says anything during meals, not usually. He tries to engage with the others, but it makes Lance mad when he does. They usually laugh at him when he tries to connect, so he usually stays silent while the others joke and poke fun at each other over their meals, a specter to their bonding, watching from the outside. 

“Keith, I mean it.” Shiro sounds a little firmer here, still not scolding, but firmer than the delicately soft tone from before.

“I’ll make sure I’m there.” Keith unfolds just a bit, just enough to really face Shiro for this...whatever it was. “I’m just tired.”

The older man’s calloused hand squeezes his shoulder gently. Shiro shifts himself closer, scooting until he’s pressed again Keith’s front, his left arm slipping around him, pulling the smaller boy into something resembling a hug. Shiro hums, not moving from the position, “Alright, you don’t need to talk about it.”

The blankets make a dark wall around them, and the pillows underneath are warm. Shiro’s arms are strong, his calloused hands familiar. It feels so much like having his dad back that Keith has to force himself to remember that his old man is _gone_. He appreciates this though, what Shiro is doing, how patient he’s being. Shiro had always been near endlessly patient with him, more than Keith deserved. He’ll have to thank the older man later, when he’s untensed and his skin doesn’t feel like it’s trying to pull itself off his bones.

They lay like that for a while, silent and comfortable for the most part. Shiro being there helps, it helps a lot. It always helped whenever he joined the fort, even if he didn’t always say anything during the rare times they ended up like this. It’s still warm, Shiro smells like sandalwood and pine trees, and it’s enough for his indigo eyes to slip shut and hum himself back into something akin to sleep.

He’s winding down, comfortable enough that the itch in his skin is barely noticeable, lost beneath a sea of warmth and familiar sensations. He buries his nose into Shiro’s shirt, his dad’s old uniform vest, old and worn and like soft leather beneath his fingertips. He feels safe again, really safe, and for the first time since the summer Shiro blasted off for the Kerberos Mission, Keith feels like he can breathe again. 

He’s only pulled from his lull when a voice breaks through their silence, “Ummm, hey guys. I guess we found you.”

Keith cracks open his eyes, turning his face towards the door flap again to see Hunk’s worried face there this time, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Under his arm is Pidge, who is silently peering inside the fort with a suspicious look on her face.

“I can’t believe this!” Lance’s voice follows as the brunette suddenly appears, pushing Pidge aside as he crawls into the fort, kicking of his shoes as he walks forward on his knees. He’s pointing at them accusingly, voice high pitched as he pads ever closer, “You two have been cuddling up in a pillow fort _without us_? That is every level of unfair and I demand justice! We pillow fort as a team here!”

“Lance! That hurt!” Pidge cries as she follows him inside, kicking off her own shoes as she crawls on her hands and knees, chasing after the brunette with fire flickering in her hazel eyes.

Hunk is the only one that respects their space, waiting outside the door flap and twittering nervously, “Guys, come on, this is probably a private thing!”

“Who said you guys could make a pillow fort without us, huh?” Lance crosses his arms and he kneels over them, trying and failing to look the part of a disappointed dad, because he’s just too Lance to pull that off, “Is this why you missed dinner, mullet? You were building unauthorized pillow forts?”

“I authorized it,” Shiro hums, sounding a bit too amused with this blatant invasion of Keith’s safe space. The younger boy doesn’t have the energy to care though, or maybe at some point he’d just became used to the others being there, even when they weren’t really. He doesn’t know, he can’t think straight. He’s still stuck in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness, too comfortable with Shiro for that itch to return to his skin.

“You were at dinner Mr!” Pidge throws herself next to Shiro’s side, throwing her arms over him, “And you went looking for Keith too, you didn’t authorize this!”

“What Pidge said!” Lance points at them victoriously, “The crimes have been uncovered, Keith isn’t getting away with this!”

“Guys, come on,” Hunk calls after them, “Pillow forts are sacred ground.”

“That’s right!” Lance latches on to the words, grinning down at them, “Pillow forts are _sacred_ and you built one without us!”

“A big one too.” Pidge perked up, looking around with an approving glint in her eye. “This is easily big enough for all of us.”

“And you were going to keep this all to yourself mullet?” Lance tsked at him, shaking his head. “Typical. How dare you? The sacred law of pillow forts is that all must be allowed inside. You can’t break the law! We aren’t criminals! My mama didn’t raise a criminal.”

“How are you a criminal if Keith built the fort?” Pidge snorted.

“We are _all_ citizens of the fort.” Lance justifies with a nod, “Someone builds a fort? You gotta climb in, it’s law. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s not how it works Lance,” Hunk calls from outside the fort. 

“That’s _totally_ how it works,” Lance says, throwing himself down next to Keith and turning over onto his back, inching closer, “Don’t get used to this, mullet, I’m only snuggling up for the sake of fort law.” 

Keith hummed, because Lance wasn’t even touching him. He was close, and he could feel the heat radiating off the other boy, but they weren’t “snugly” or whatever.

“Don’t say that unless you’re actually man enough to _actually_ cuddle,” Keith dares to speak for the first time, because he’s a little shit and can’t resist the temptation. In hindsight it was a bad idea, because he’s a bit touch starved and at his limit for stimulation, and Lance takes _everything_ he says as some kind of personal challenge. So he really shouldn’t be surprised with he’s suddenly engulfed by the tanned boy’s arms, forcefully squished between his brother and Lance. Pidge snickering at the situation behind a poorly hidden smirk.

“Whose not man enough to cuddle now!” Lance cries right into Keith’s ear. The raven haired boy groans, trying to rub the abused appendage against his shoulder, because Lance is loud at the best of times but this was dumb.

“Right, right, that’s enough,” Shiro’s calm voice cuts over the noise like a blanket, “Let’s all relax. Hunk? If you want to come in then Keith doesn’t seem to be protesting.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Hunk’s relieved voice sounds over them, and Keith can feel the pillows dip as he crawls inside, the heavy thump of his boots hitting the floor as he moves forward. He plops down next to Lance, dropping down and throwing an arm over them that reaches all the way to Shiro, “You guys have _no idea_ how bad I wanted to crawl inside the moment I saw this thing.”

“Keith should be grounded for hiding this from us,” Pidge pipes in, “Fort law.”

“Yeah, fort law.” Keith can feel Lance nod.

“After dinner,” Hunk insists, though he makes no move to force Keith towards any food. Instead he cracks his neck, burrowing himself further into the pillows beneath, “Skipping meals isn’t healthy man. I thought we had an unspoken rule.”

“Fort law,” Pidge whispers, unexpectedly coming to his defense, “You can’t blame Keith for falling under the thrall of the mighty fort.”

Lance hums, “Truuuuuuuue.”

“We can let it pass this once.” Shiro’s lips twitch, voice heavy with amusement, “For fort law.”

“Okay then…” Hunk squeezes his arms around them just the smallest bit, “But only this once! No one is skipping meals on my watch!”

In the morning Keith might regret this, but right now he’s warm, and his skin has stopped itching. Pidge’s voice dropped to a mutter, playing like a lullaby against his ears. So he lets his eyes slipped closed, calloused hands on his back, strong arms draping over him, a blanket of warmth he hadn’t felt since dad died. He buried his nose into Shiro’s shirt again, the smell of sandalwood now joined by the smell of whatever cologne Lance somehow managed to have one him even out here in space. 

It smelled like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, not my usual klance, but maybe if you turn your head and squint a bit you can almost maybe make out future klance in there.


End file.
